Mushrooms and Marriage
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: It's a story as old as time: two young strangers are trapped together by fate and fall madly in love. But even though Jack is being a good little character in that story, no one told Amy about the "love" part, so now she's just… mad. Is there nothing Jack can do to change her mind? T for slight suggestive themes. I do not own Lost in Blue or the cover art!


_I was just going through some of my old stuff the other day and remembered that I used to be really big on this fandom, so I wrote a little something for it in honor of my previous (awful) work!_

* * *

Jack stirs himself reluctantly into wakefulness, knowing he has only a few moments of placidity before the storm breaks.

It's as beautiful a morning as he could ever hope for. The birds with whom he shares the tree sing as sweetly as ever; the leafy walls of the house sway in a cool and gentle breeze; the sound of the sea echoes against the cliffs; the first rays of the sun slowly spread into the room. But there's one thing wrong, and she's just as much a force of nature as any of the others.

_Amy_. Jack hauls himself to his feet and glances down at her sleeping form apprehensively, trying not to think about how unbearably good she looks tangled up in wolf fur. Yesterday, while Amy was off fishing, Jack made the apparently colossal mistake of eating the mushrooms she left on the shelf, and it's all a blur after that. All he knows is that when he came to again, Amy was kneeling over him, yelling about how stupid he was; he gathered, somewhat hazily, that the mushroom had knocked him out.

Jack rubs the back of his head automatically at the vague memory of falling, wincing and jerking his hand down again when he brushes the spot where he hit the shelf. He supposes he ought to have known better than to eat mushrooms, given his first experience on the island, but he really didn't have time to be running around looking for food. He had been busy working on the Most Important Project of His Life.

Amy frowns sleepily and stretches with an adorable squeal in the back of her throat; Jack hastily looks away as her dark eyes flutter open. Idly skimming their stock levels, he waits for her traditional morning greeting, but she says nothing to him as she rises. Jack, losing interest in reviewing their few worldly possessions, watches her scoop some water out of the oil barrel and splash it on her face calmly, then—after some deliberation—shoulder her bow and the quiver Jack made for her.

She walks deliberately towards the door with a great deal of dignity for someone in so tattered a dress, and turns around suddenly to face him as she reaches the doorway. Jack realizes with a jolt that it's too late to pretend he hasn't been mesmerized by her every move… as usual.

"Why are you just standing there?" asks Amy, a hand on her hip. "Is there something on my face? Don't answer that," she adds immediately, scowling, as Jack opens his mouth to say there's still water there.

"Good morning to you, too," he ventures, and as Amy's dark eyes flash, he cowers a little inside. She may be a foot shorter than him and probably fifty pounds lighter, but she can be really intimidating when she wants to be. Jack has determined, over the two years or so they've spent on the island, that the best defense against her fury is his trademark puppy-dog eyes.

"Morning," she amends grudgingly after a long pause, and Jack allows himself a smile at his success. "I'm going hunting."

"How long are you going to be gone?" asks Jack tentatively. It's not exclusively out of concern that he asks, though that is certainly part of it. He's also working on his aforementioned Most Important Project, and for that, he needs time… and privacy.

"Till midnight," responds Amy with a heavy sigh. "It's wolf season."

Jack nods distractedly. Midnight… That's plenty of time. Probably.

"And you want to risk your life again… why, exactly?" he asked, nonplussed.

"Good meat, good fur." Amy gestures vaguely towards the inside of their house, lingering longest on their beds. "Good exercise," she adds as an afterthought, brushing a hand along her flat stomach and smoothing out her ragged dress in one fluid motion. "Any other stupid questions before I head out?"

Jack thought a moment before shaking his head. "Be safe," he sighs.

"You too," responds Amy, and there's the barest hint of accusation hiding there as she descends the ladder. Jack is about to prepare for his day when Amy calls up to him, "And, Jack?"

He pokes his head out the door nervously to glance down at her.

"Whenever you get around to going gathering," she continues, "keep in mind—if I see any mushrooms of _any color_ when I get back, I'm going to throw them, and you, off the cliff just there." She points for emphasis before turning around and marching through the tall grass, and Jack pretends he's watching her back before he tugs his head inside again. He'll need a water bottle if he's going gathering.

As Jack descends the ladder and wanders towards the river, pulling up a few carrots along the way, he wonders for a moment whether they will _ever _get back to civilization. In two years, they haven't even explored the whole island yet: neither of them are brave enough to explore the temple to the east. Jack just doesn't think it's a good idea, based on the fate of other temple trespassers. She's not going to argue, either, which is a first.

Well, come to think of it, they don't argue _all _the time. They usually get along quite well, cooperating to collect food and supplies every day, and talking and laughing around the campfire every evening. It's just that there are times when they go through little minor rifts. Sometimes Amy loses her patience, or Jack sinks into depression—but they always patch things up within a few days, as with all good long-term relationships.

Wait—_long-term relationships_? Jack smiles in spite of himself, refilling his bottle. Even if Amy refuses to admit it, that's essentially what they've had for a good year and a half now. They are one another's support. They have to be, in order not to lose their minds. Jack shudders just to think of what it would be like to lose her.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, drowning in saltwater (which soaks his face), Amy wordlessly wraps her arms around his chest from behind, and hums hoarse lullabies as she rests her head on his shoulder. Her closeness soothes him as much as her songs, and he slips back into peaceful slumber before he's aware she's gone again.

And when Amy cries out in the night, and he knows she's dreaming of falling, Jack kneels next to her, wiping her face with a water-soaked rag and looking into her bloodshot eyes, and murmuring assurances that she's all right—that he's here for her, always here for her. He hopes, more than thinks, that she believes him, and that she recognizes the genuine affection in his voice.

Bag bulging with fruit and vegetables—passionfruit, raspberries, carrots, potatoes—Jack makes his way down to the beach, his head full of the sparkle of Amy's eyes in the light of the campfire. He can't forget that expression, because it precedes most of the times she kisses him good night.

At first they were just swift, sisterly pecks on the cheek, but one night (branded forever in his memory), they talked so long the fire died. She couldn't see his face—so her kiss was half on the mouth, half off. It's been light chaste kisses on the lips for him ever since. He wishes she'd either stop it or give him more, because he's losing his mind.

He scoops up shells along the beach frustratedly. Why does she have to get so annoyed with him just for eating a mushroom? He assumed that the fact that it was on the shelf meant it was, you know, edible. Apparently not. Jack tries to think of a way he can apologize, but every time he rephrases it, it sounds more and more sarcastic.

Working on the Project might be his best call. Jack trudges back home, pausing on his way to pick a few mushrooms out of pure spite and have a snack (not at the same time, of course). As he gets back to the house, he sets his bag down gently before finally taking out the circular plank he's trying to refine into something more beautiful.

He sits down in the doorway, but hesitates when he glances down at the acajou in his hand. He's not entirely sure this is a good idea. Amy will probably kill him when he gives it to her, after all—but hey, if things go south, he can always repurpose it. Mind made up, he continues his carving and whittling.

As the light shifts, as the shape in his hands grows smaller and smaller, Jack considers how things had changed from their first days on the island. Their whole purpose has changed. Their first priority is no longer to escape, nor even to look for other survivors. Two years without a hint of other human life is enough to convince them both that they are the only ones who lived. Their current priority is merely to keep on keeping on, and to try not to think too much about home.

Of course, _this_ is his home now. Jack smiles to distract himself, thinking of the way he helped build this place, and how well it's served them for the year or so it's stood. They're thriving, and he's part of the reason. He is _not _useless. _He is not useless._ Jack repeats the phrase to himself to counter Amy's taunts, still ringing in his head. He hopes—that is, he _knows_—she doesn't really mean it. Does she?

He takes a break, setting the Project aside as he touches his lips dreamily, remembering the light pressure of hers just a few nights ago. No, she can't mean that. He prepares himself carrots and potatoes for dinner, thinking all the while of all the reasons Amy has to think he's not a burden, and continues on his Project—this time sitting at the base of the tree, next to the campfire.

It's at least looking a little more presentable now. He takes a moment to wonder how, exactly, he's going to attach the little bit of frosted white sea-glass in his breast pocket—but resolves to cross that bridge when he comes to it, and merely continues his whittling as the sun sets.

There—a proper, thin, hollow circle! Jack admires the firelight through the hole and carefully sets his knife to straightening out the edges and smoothing out the faces. It shouldn't have taken this long to refine it into this shape. He needs to finish this in a hurry if he's going to get it done by the time Amy shows up.

Tree sap! He'll use tree sap as glue for the sea-glass. But… that means going into the rainforest, and it's already long past sunset. It's too dangerous. She'll get even more angry at him if he gets in trouble and she has to bail him out with that spear she made. She'll understand, he tells himself, pocketing the Project and sitting back on his hands, waiting for Amy to return.

Midnight comes and goes, and Jack starts worrying. She should be back any moment now. Is she all right, or have the wolves eaten her? Should he go look for her?

His worries are relieved when he hears the unmistakable sound of a travois dragged along the ground, undoubtedly carrying good wolf meat and pelts. His stomach growls at the thought of a good old-fashioned barbeque; he hasn't eaten since sunset—but he knows fruit would be a better meal for them at this hour. "Amy!" he calls, relieved, as she comes into the circle of firelight, looking weary but unhurt.

"Jack!" she responds with some surprise, lugging the travois up and over another ledge. "How come you're still up? Is something wrong?" She begins the slow process of unloading her prey, ignoring her clearly aching muscle. Jack notices her wince, no matter how she turns away to hide it. Why does she insist on being so strong all the time?

"I was just worried about you," returned Jack, taking a bundle of meat wrapped in fur and bringing it up the ladder. "And I wanted to help you unpack."

"That's nice of you," smiles Amy, and allows him to carry up the remains of the wolves, depositing them in their designated 'kitchen' area alongside his leftover fruits and vegetables. Amy is sitting by the fire when he descends again, staring into the flames as though lost in thought.

"I'm sorry for yesterday," says Jack hesitantly, sitting a respectful distance away from her. "You know, about the mushroom." That's as much as he can say without sounding insincere. After all, he still doesn't really think it's his fault. He just wants her to stop being mad at him.

Amy sighs heavily. "Just… please don't do it again, okay? I worry about you."

Jack blinks. "You _worry _about me?" he repeats. Her insults weren't genuine after all! He could sing.

"Of _course_ I worry about you," says Amy, scooting over and leaning her head against his shoulder; his breath catches briefly before he reminds himself to inhale again. "I think about how you're doing all the time whenever we're apart."

"That often, huh?" teases Jack gently, looking down at her, and her smile widens.

He searches her dark eyes carefully before he leans down (they close) and kisses her experimentally. This one isn't chaste; it lingers lazily, and as they break apart, Jack wants nothing more than to lose himself in her completely. But he knows better.

"I'm sorr—" he begins automatically, but Amy cuts him off with another, more hasty kiss and pulls away from him as he moves to draw her closer; she holds up the Project between their lips with a glimmer in her eyes.

"An engagement ring?" she questions, and Jack's heart skips a beat as he frantically feels his pocket. Only the sea-glass is there, by way of a diamond. _She stole it! _he seethes to himself, but the dominant emotion is fear, not anger: he can feel himself trembling under her dark stare.

"M-maybe?" is his brilliant response.

Amy laughs, and Jack is about to throw himselfoff the cliff behind them before she can even find the mushrooms he picked, but then she gives him a dazzling smile and he thinks things might not be so hopeless after all.

"Maybe," she repeats, slipping the ring onto his pinky—the only finger around which it will fit—and pats his hand lightly. "If you're very, very good for the next while or so, I might consider it. Of course, we won't be able to have a priest marry us."

"I'm not religious," assures Jack, kicking dirt over the campfire to deter it from spreading through the grassland. (Smokey the Bear would be proud.) The last thing he needs is to render them all homeless.

"Or a best man, or a maid of honor," adds Amy from the top of the ladder.

"Well, they're not really _necessary_," says Jack uncertainly, following her inside. "Are they?"

"And I won't have a wedding dress," continues Amy from the other side of the room, arranging herself in her bed.

"You look beautiful in whatever you wear," says Jack, privately adding that she'll probably also look beautiful wearing nothing at all—but pushes this thought out of his head a moment later, annoyed. There's a time and a place, and it's certainly not here and now.

He can practically hear her smile at the compliment as he crawls into bed himself. "Also… I don't want to risk having children."

"We don't have to have ch—" begins Jack, but stops short as he realizes what she's saying. "Wait," he says. "You mean… _abstinence_?" He tries not to sound too distraught, because he honestly isn't, but he's not sure how successful he is when he hears the tartness of her reply.

"Well, what do _you_ propose we do?" asks Amy exasperatedly. "It's not like we have access to all the amenities of home. Now, sweet dreams," she says, and it sounds more like _end of discussion _than a good-night.

"But—" protests Jack desperately. There has to be some sort of way around this. Even though that's by no means his only motivation for wanting to marry her, it would be a nice bonus on the side! Couldn't they just—?

"Sweet _dreams_, Jack," interrupts Amy, cutting off his thoughts, and unless he's much mistaken, that's amusement in her voice. He breathes a sigh of relief; he thought he had destroyed all hope in getting to marry her just by bringing this up.

"Good night, Amy."

Amy's breaths grow deeper and more rhythmic with slumber, but Jack is unable to convince himself to fall asleep. _Hasn't today been productive enough as it is?_ he asks himself, annoyed. He got her to say 'maybe' to a marriage proposal! That was way better than he had thought he could do just an hour ago.

But his mind insists on turning the matter over anyway, and Jack reluctantly lets it try futilely to work out solutions. He's not going to pressure her; it's his responsibility to find a way to make her more comfortable with the idea. He turns over in bed with a wry smile, pulling his wolf-fur blankets with him.

He thinks he knows what his Next Most Important Project of His Life will be…

* * *

_I like to think this is a little bit better than "Fighting Wolves", but I don't know for sure. Anyway, thanks for reading!_


End file.
